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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28946454">A Captain's Atonement</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ace_Of_Cups/pseuds/Ace_of_Cups'>Ace_of_Cups (Ace_Of_Cups)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Strange, Smutty Traditions of SMH [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Check Please! (Webcomic)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Bondage, Bonding, Dubious Consent, Everyone's horny for J Zimmermann, Exhibitionism, Forced Orgasm, Hand Jobs, M/M, Mild Humiliation, Mild Nipple Play, Other, Porn with Feelings, Public Sex, Shameless Smut, Try not to cum challenge, implied humiliation kink, kind of group sex, not really though just a lot of people jacking off in the same room, omgcp - Freeform, relatively canon compliant except for the v inappropriate sexual traditions lol, sub!Jack ish</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 04:41:56</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,146</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28946454</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ace_Of_Cups/pseuds/Ace_of_Cups</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Samwell Men's Hockey team has desperately bungled a game, and no one is happy with their performance, least of all Coaches Hall and Murray (and Jack, who is beating himself up for his lack of leadership, of course). The Coaches make it clear in their post-game chewing out of the team that they will be run into the ground running suicides in their practices for the foreseeable future because of their performance, and as punishment/a chance for atonement for Jack, they resurrect an SMH tradition that gives Jack an unconventional chance to help his team out and earn their respect.</p><p> </p><p>  <i>“Every minute that Jack lasts is one less minute on your drill,” Hall said. “If you try to heckle or help him in any way, that’s five minutes added to the drill. If he cums in under five minutes, that’s five minutes added to the drill.”</i></p><p> </p><p>  <i>Bitty froze in place as understanding set in. He watched as Murray retrieved a bottle of lube from the duffel and handed it to Coach Hall, then pulled a stopwatch from his pocket and hung it around his neck. Bitty looked around the room again, hoping to see some sign as to how he was supposed to behave in this incomprehensible situation. </i></p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>implied holsom - Relationship, pre-zimbits, the first breadcrumbs of polyfrogs but not there yet</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Strange, Smutty Traditions of SMH [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2136009</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>29</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Jack's Turn</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>As usual, unbeta'd because I will never admit to anyone that I've written this, and it might be subject to editing in the future if I decide to revisit this. Hope you can enjoy the nonsense scenario that my brain cooked up because I just want to get as many members of SMH naked and horny in as many combinations and ridiculous situations as possible. I have ambitions to write at least one chapter of this premise per canon SMH captain (unit), and this fic actually inspired some aftercare/Zimbits thoughts that I was <i>not</i> planning on having, so perhaps I'll also write that, too. Who knows. Till then, enjoy!</p><p>(Also I always try so hard to tag everything well and then spend a week after posting updating the tags, so if I've missed anything particularly glaring my apologies!)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When Bitty first signed on to play college hockey at Samwell, he expected many things to be true. He expected that the team would be violently straight, that the locker room would continue to be a source of tension and fear, and that he would maybe find one or two teammates he could connect with beyond their shared sport. He expected to endure some level of homophobia from the team, though he couldn’t know whether that would look like snide comments or physical aggression or straight up malice. He expected to remain closeted to his team.</p><p>He even kind of expected this, at least occasionally. The team gathered in various stages of post-game undress in the locker room after a mess of a game, the air heavy with shame and defeat. Murray and Hall staring at them in silence rather than the customary post-loss lecture/rant/pep talk—depending on how they played. Their gazes were unflinching and seemed to carry the threat of merciless practices for the next two weeks, at least.</p><p>Members of the team varied in their responses. Ransom and Holster sat by each other, Holster’s arm around Ransom’s hunched shoulders, Ransom’s face buried in his hands. Shitty leaned against the wall, staring at the ceiling and absentmindedly rubbing a thumb across the stubble on his chin, his face implacable. The frogs seemed to have lightning sparking between them, as every shift in Nursey’s body led to a jerking recoil from Dex, and Chowder watched the friction between his friends with the threat of tears in his eyes.</p><p>Bitty chewed on the inside of his lip and tapped his toes and glanced every so often at Jack. He felt flashes of his old conflict with his captain racing through him, memories of when Jack hated him for being placed on the same line, or for the fact that the coaches were right to have done so. Of course, Bitty knew that Jack took an inordinate amount of blame on himself when the team played poorly, and it was hard to tell which side of him was winning out at the moment, as Jack stared, unflinching, back at Murray and Hall. Despite the echoes of his old fear that Jack would direct his icy anger toward him after the night was over, Bitty found he couldn’t help but feel the desire to comfort him, reassure him.</p><p>What Bitty had not expected, couldn’t have possibly expected, began then. The coaches gave each other a brief, consulting look before nodding and looking back at the team, a strange light in their eyes. </p><p>“Well, it’s been a long time since we’ve had to do this,” Coach Murray said. His voice had a quality in it that made every member of the team look to him, tense as if waiting for him to explode. With the part of his brain that wasn’t consumed by panic and resignation, Bitty noticed that a slight blush crept into Jack’s cheeks then. Determination illuminated his eyes.</p><p>Coach Murray had disappeared in the direction of the storage closet and returned now, sliding a particularly sturdy looking chair across the ground. The seat and back were cushioned, and Bitty noticed as well that there were pads along the top of the chair’s arms, ending in something he couldn’t quite make out. When Murray made it back to the front of the room, chair planted before himself and Hall, Bitty’s eyes widened. Bolted to the end of both arms and legs were padded leather cuffs. </p><p>Somewhere beside him, the frogs muttered in shocked tones amongst themselves. Bitty, for his part, had receded deeply inside himself, a wave of panic sweeping him into memories of the night in a utility closet, the fears he’d had before finding that Samwell Men’s Hockey was unexpectedly safe and supportive. He looked at the chair and trembled. </p><p>“Captain,” Coach Hall said, expectantly.</p><p>Bitty watched with shock and some relief as Jack stood up from the bench beside him and strode toward the coaches, towel wrapped tightly around his hips. His hair was boy-band droopy with sweat, his lower back glistened, all the kinds of things that Bitty schooled himself not to notice, no matter how accepting the team seemed to be. </p><p>Coach Hall addressed them all as Murray returned to the storage closet. “I don’t have to tell you guys that tonight’s game was a colossal fuck-up.” His tone was unflinching, but not cruel. “Some of you played like you remembered what sport you’re in, but not one of you played like you were goddamn college-level athletes.” </p><p>The team’s flinch was collective. He wasn’t screaming but his words were no less wounding.</p><p>“So. For those of you who have never witnessed this tradition of Samwell Men’s Hockey, let me explain. As captain, when your team fucks it up like this, the blame falls on you.” </p><p>Bitty snapped a pained glance at Jack, whose shoulders were tight, raised. His back was still turned to the team, though, head bowed, and he showed no other reaction.</p><p>Coach Hall continued, as Murray returned from the storage closet with a duffel bag Bitty had never seen before. “You can probably guess that the training this week is going to be…punishing.” The team groaned in response. “But your captain has a chance to spare you some suffering, and a responsibility to you all to show he feels any sense of duty and devotion to this team.”</p><p>While Coach Hall spoke, Jack dropped his towel, earning a couple of half-hearted snickers from teammates and a near-silent wolf whistle from Shitty. None of it was sufficient to lighten the mood in the room, however, especially not with the uncomfortable confusion the younger members of the team were feeling. Jack sat in the chair and remained perfectly still as Coach Murray busied himself with strapping his arms and legs in. </p><p>Bitty glanced over at Shitty, whose face showed discomfort fading quickly into intense focus, with what Bitty suspected was a glint of arousal. He silently scolded himself and averted his gaze, because clearly he was just projecting onto Shitty, he thought. He glanced at the frogs, each of whom looked nearly as concerned and uncomfortable as Bitty felt. Dex’s blush looked vibrant enough to be a space heater. Ransom and Holster, who had been leaning on each other and telegraphing defeat to the locker room had perked up somewhat. They still leaned against each other, but they watched Jack intently, neither looking particularly confused about the proceedings.</p><p>Coach Hall was still speaking to the team. “Here’s the deal: Starting tomorrow you’re gonna be doing twenty minute suicide runs at every practice.” A sound of surprise and dread and protest rippled through the locker room and Hall held up a finger. “Your captain has a chance tonight to reduce the length of the drills for you and prove his dedication to the team, which I’m sure we’re all questioning given your performance tonight.”</p><p>Murray pulled the final strap tight around Jack’s ankle. Jack had closed his eyes and was breathing deeply, steadily. Bitty fought as hard as he could to keep himself from staring, even as he felt his gaze drifting downward to where Jack’s dick was exposed between his muscular thighs. He snapped his eyes away, but not before observing his captain was already getting hard. </p><p>“Every minute that Jack lasts is one less minute on your drill,” Hall said. “If you try to heckle or help him in any way, that’s five minutes added to the drill. If he cums in under five minutes, that’s five minutes added to the drill.”</p><p>Bitty froze in place as understanding set in. He watched as Murray retrieved a bottle of lube from the duffel and handed it to Coach Hall, then pulled a stopwatch from his pocket and hung it around his neck. Bitty looked around the room again, hoping to see some sign as to how he was supposed to behave in this incomprehensible situation. Shitty, still leaning against the wall, no longer showed any signs of discomfort but rather watched with unflinching attention, eyes clearly taking in every detail of Jack’s body, restrained and exposed to the whole team. </p><p>He couldn’t bring himself to look at Jack the same way, though. Years of mercilessly crushing all desire and interest while in locker rooms, both out of respect and survival, were hard to shake, even when the teammate he fantasized about the most often was on display for them all. A quick glance showed him that Ransom and Holster were still glued to each other, Holster’s arm slung around Ransom’s shoulder, but now Ransom seemed to have a hand slowly moving up Holster’s thigh. </p><p>“If you want to show some solidarity with your Captain, you’ll try to keep up and last as long as he does,” Hall said as he poured lube onto an open palm. He nodded to Murray, who started the stopwatch as Coach Hall stepped up to Jack. “Looks like your Captain is getting hard before I’ve even put a finger on him,” he said, a sharp, teasing edge in his voice. “Not a good sign, boys. He might not be able to do this for you.”</p><p>Bitty allowed himself to look and, sure enough, Jack’s dick had continued growing while Hall was talking to the team, standing, thick and pale, up between Jack’s legs. His balls hung low, and Bitty allowed his eyes to trace the dark smattering of hair at the base of his shaft up along his happy trail to see his abs rhythmically expanding and contracting with Jack’s measured breathing. It hit him, in a flash that nearly had him moaning aloud in the quiet locker room: Jack was getting off on this without even being touched. The rational part of his mind whispered that this was a bad sign, that this could mean even longer drills for the next week, but that voice was overwhelmed by the chorus of voices in his head yelling that Jack Zimmerman was a kinky bastard. Whether it be the exhibitionism, the bondage, the slight humiliation element, or something else entirely, Bitty couldn’t know, but one way or another Jack was turned on by something about this strange tradition.</p><p>Hall crouched down beside Jack and grabbed his cock with a lubed hand. Jack’s body stilled in response, his breathing arrested for a torturous moment as the coach dragged a slick hand slowly up the growing length of him. His hand closed around the head of Jack’s dick and then he was mercilessly pumping short, hard strokes on just the tip. </p><p>Jack, the team’s stoic captain, gasped a shameless moan of pleasure and indignation at the cruel tactic. His back arched as he tried desperately to pull his cock from the coach’s unrelenting hand and he jerked instinctively against the restraints. His eyes flew open and he looked pleadingly at Coach Hall, who was intent on his task. But then he caught himself and forced a deep breath even as his hips twitched and jerked seemingly outside of his control and he closed his eyes again, a crease on his forehead signaling deep concentration on the task at hand. </p><p>The scene before him seemed to have thrown a wrench into his mind’s gears. Thought was arrested as Bitty watched this all unfold, incapable of processing what he was seeing. He couldn’t take his eyes off of it, though, and he felt a thrill of guilt as he realized he was fully hard under his towel. Another quick glance around the room assuaged his guilt a bit when he observed the number of his teammates who either sported erections openly or had taken Coach Hall’s call for solidarity to heart and were quietly slicking hands around their lengths, many trying to match the coach’s strokes and pace. Someone had passed the bottle of lube around already, and Bitty could see it being passed from person to person, making its way toward him. Coach Hall switched to long, slow tugs along the whole length of Jack’s shaft and an audible sigh of relief swept through the room, clenched faces relaxed as they were able to stop the relentless stimulation of the sensitive tips of their dicks. </p><p>Coach Murray leaned over Jack’s shoulder to watch Hall work and reached a hand around to begin gently teasing at a nipple with his fingernails. Jack let out a soft gasp at the new stimulation and writhed in the chair. Murray surveyed the locker room with a grin and said to Jack, “You should see how many of them are trying to keep up with you, Jack.” His eyes were fixed on Jack’s closed eyelids and he reached around with his other hand to begin playing with Jack’s other nipple, dark and pointed on the pale skin of his chest. “They either really respect you or really want to fuck you, what do you think? Do you think your team respects your leadership?” </p><p>Jack opened his eyes and saw a growing number of his teammates watching and jerking off in sync with the hand ruthlessly pumping along his dick and Coach Murray, seeing this, chose that moment to twist his nipples, hard. Jack let out his first truly unrestrained moan as his eyes fluttered and his head fell back. He thrust up, once, into Hall’s hand, and the coaches laughed. </p><p>“It’s only been two minutes, Jack,” Hall said, “Are you gonna let your team down like this?”</p><p>Jack stilled his movement but a quiet whine slipped from him. </p><p>Hall kept stroking Jack with slow, firm slides. He added his other hand to begin fondling Jack’s balls. “We expect you to demonstrate some commitment to this team, Jack. Show them how hard you’ll work for them.” </p><p>Jack found himself fighting his desire to get fully lost in the pleasure of the moment. It had been two years since the last time he’d had to do this for the team, after a particularly disastrous game in his first year as captain. He’d badly mishandled that game and knew there were members of the team who resented him for it, and as fundamentally embarrassing as this tradition is he was grateful the coaches had given him a chance to win the team’s favor back, if unconventionally. It worked, as he fought tooth and nail to postpone his orgasm well enough to reduce the team’s drill times by quite a lot. </p><p>It hadn’t been easy, though. The coaches showed a cruel side of themselves, much like tonight, giving no breaks and seemingly trying everything they could think of to make him burst. And Jack learned a few things about himself that night, as well. The eyes, all focused on him in this vulnerable, exposed state, the desire to prove himself and please others, the feel of the restraints on his wrists and ankles…all of these heightened his arousal in a way he’d not known they would. </p><p>Nothing had changed, it seemed. Jack fought to keep his mind focused on running through play diagrams, thinking about homework, anything to keep from getting pulled into the irresistible building of tension in his body. The locker room air was warm and damp on his skin and the slick sound of Coach Hall’s ministrations mingled with the rippling of breaths coming from the team. Jack made the mistake of opening his eyes briefly and saw several teammates trying to keep up with him. Shitty watched Coach Hall intently in order to match strokes, Ransom and Holster were somewhat in sync but weren’t paying close attention, and, shockingly, even Nursey had joined in, a look of determination mingled with fading confusion on his face. Dex wore an expression of conflicted horror beside him and seemed to be fighting as hard as he could to ignore Nursey’s efforts at solidarity with their captain. </p><p>Coach Murray relented in his pinching and tweaking of Jack’s nipples, earning a small sigh of relief. Jack’s sigh strangled in his throat as Murray switched instead to lightly running his fingertips over the skin of Jack’s torso. He was rewarded with a genuine whimper from Jack and a ripple of gooseflesh, and Jack fought, for the first time, against his wrist restraints. The coaches laughed again.</p><p>Bitty was uncomfortably turned on, he noticed with some combination of embarrassment, betrayal, and acceptance. How could he not be? some part of him wondered reasonably, but it was hard to shake the years of self-directed mandates against his lust in the locker room. His dick tented the towel now, and he no longer bothered to try and hide it coyly, though he had not given himself permission to join the others who were trying to keep pace with the coaches. He had no sense of how much time had now passed, but he wasn’t sure he could resist the urge to relieve himself if this all stretched on too much longer.</p><p>A sudden gasp, a bitten off moan startled Bitty and he looked toward the source of the noise. Holster had an arm slung around Ransom’s shoulder and the other gripping the bench beneath him desperately. His back arched and his eyes clenched tight as he came in Ransom’s hand. Holster grinned sheepishly but without a hint of embarrassment and silently threw his hands in the air, shaking his head in amused and sated defeat. His left hand returned to Ransom’s lap and began eliciting squirms.</p><p>Meanwhile, Jack grimaced, desperate concentration on his face as Coach Hall returned to a furious pace in tandem with the indiscreet sounds of Holster’s orgasm. A sheen of sweat glistened over his whole body, making stark the shifting of the light on his chest and abs as his once-measured breath came in clenched, tight gasps. Holster’s orgasm seemed to have set off a ripple effect through the locker room, as the previously hushed sounds of teammates jacking off began bubbling into barely restrained gasps and moans and whimpers. Jack gave in again and surveyed the room, saw his teammates trying to keep pace, dicks in hand, eyes on him.</p><p>Jack groaned loudly and threw his head back against the chair. His body arched up as he clenched as tightly as he could. A tortured yell squeezed through his gritted teeth and Bitty could see the strain in his neck.</p><p>Coach Hall wouldn’t relent, and Bitty saw that Jack was barely hanging on. He had no sense of how long this had lasted, though it felt stretched out and endless. Jack was fully writhing in his seat now, his thick cock reddening, glistening. His gasping breaths now carried constant whimpers, small whines which were building. Jack’s hips twitched forward into the coach’s grip, seemingly out of his control. </p><p>Bitty couldn’t take it anymore. The lube had thankfully been set on the floor within reach, and he poured too much in his hand. He dropped his towel from around his hips, all fear and shame relegated to background noise, and began pumping his fist along the pulsing length of his dick, aching for friction and release. He felt nearly on the verge already just from witnessing the evening’s events. </p><p>“No, no, please no, no not yet…” Jack began babbling semi-coherent pleas and thrashing desperately against his restraints. </p><p>A breathy groan again colored the moment as Shitty came, hard. Bitty glanced in time to see a shocking amount of cum strip from his clenched fist and narrowly miss Nursey’s sweaty back on the bench before him. Dex’s face burned bright red at all he saw unfolding, but Bitty spotted the way he was reluctantly palming at his crotch.</p><p>Jack’s begging became desperate, his voice reaching a high, breathy pitch that none of them had ever heard before. The hint of a sob curled around the edges and his head was thrown back, eyes clenched shut. In that moment, however, Jack’s head snapped up and his eyes flew open, as if he were looking for an anchor point, something to help him hold on a bit longer.</p><p>His eyes met Bitty’s. And then slid down Bitty’s exposed body to where he had his cock in hand, pumping frantically as he watched Jack. Jack’s voice dissolved into a defeated groan, a wreck of surrender, and he came violently. Thick ribbons of cum laced through the air as Jack’s whole body tensed and stilled, his hands clutching at the empty air. His moans sounded both defeated and relieved. Jack let his head sag forward and hang as he collected himself.</p><p>Coach Hall shook his hand out and flexed it a few times before starting to undo the restraints on Jack’s wrists and ankles while, above him, Coach Murray checked the stopwatch and laughed and shook his head. In the crowd of the locker room, Ransom’s voice choked out a small cry as he came and the wet sounds of Nursey’s lube-slick fist continued as a faint backdrop.</p><p>“Jack, buddy, seven minutes and fifty-two seconds!” He patted Jack on the chest as a collective sigh of relief and gratitude swept through the locker room. “Not your best, by about two minutes, but not bad at all.”</p><p>Jack shakily stood from the chair just long enough to flop onto a bench placed flush with the wall. He looked up through the bangs flopping over his eyes and Bitty wasn’t at all shocked to see an expression of apology on his face, as if he expected the team to be upset with him for his performance. His eyes flickered back over to where Bitty was, and it was only then Bitty realized he still stood, hard dick in his hand and completely exposed. Jack’s gaze darkened briefly and slid up Bitty’s naked body but stopped just short of meeting Bitty’s wide eyes. Jack’s cheeks flushed and he looked away, something like shame or lust on his face, Bitty couldn’t tell. Regardless, Bitty rushed to grab his shorts from the duffel bag at his feet and pulled them on, disregarding the slick, almost sticky discomfort of the lube on his hand and cock. This whole bizarre experience felt like a dream and the haze was receding quickly as the coaches busied themselves with storing the chair and accoutrements and the rest of the team dressed themselves. </p><p>“Well, team, looks like you’ll only be running suicides for thirteen minutes this week, thanks to your captain,” Hall said.</p><p>Gazes shifted to Jack, who slumped boneless against the wall behind him. He hadn’t bothered getting dressed and didn’t look capable of much movement at all. Everyone was shocked when he spoke.</p><p>“Sorry I couldn’t take more time off, guys,” he said softly.</p><p>The locker room erupted in shouts of protest. </p><p>“Fuck you apologizing for, Zimmerman? You’re a literal Adonis,” Shitty’s voice rang.</p><p>“We fucked this game up, you’ve got nothing to apologize for,” Adam bellowed above them all.</p><p>“They played dirty,” Dex growled, “Hall was yanking on your dick like a chainsaw he couldn’t start.” </p><p>Chowder appeared too mortified by all he’d witnessed to say anything, but his blushing and poorly concealed boner were loud enough.</p><p>—“Is it chill if I finish up?” Nursey asked no one in particular, hand still sliding casually along his length. “Dexy-poo, Chowder, you’ll wait on me, right?”<br/>
“Nurse, I am not going to stand here and watch you jerk off.”<br/>
“Dude, I got a late start, it’s nbd.”<br/>
“Did you just say ‘n’ ‘b’ ‘d’ out loud with your mouth.”<br/>
“Guys, come on, don’t ruin our bonding moment!” Chowder interrupted their arguing.—</p><p>Bitty wanted to go to Jack and reassure him, provide some sort of support since he looked physically and emotionally spent and was making no moves to dress or pack up. But the shorts he’d put on to hide his boner only made it more obvious, and it didn’t seem likely his dick would get the memo and calm down until he could get back to the Haus and finish what he’d started, and the thought of approaching even a naked and recently exhibited Jack with a hard-on was simply out of the question. Shitty and the D-men seemed to be on the task, though, as they were already helping Jack from the bench and getting him dressed. </p><p>Bitty made his way from the locker room and started back toward the Haus. He’d just go back to his room, take care of his erection, soak in a shower, and maybe after some shower karaoke he’d have the mental distance from this surreal episode he needed to look Jack in the eye again. Oh! He’d make a pie, he decided, something that said “Hey thanks for lasting almost eight minutes before you had an orgasm in front of me,” but also “You did a good job,” and also “You’re a great captain,” and also “Nice cock, bro.” </p><p>Maybe a custard pie?</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. An Attempt at Comfort</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Bitty couldn't see how deeply Jack's pain is rooted without trying to offer some comfort. So he bakes a pie, of course. A conversation is had, many feelings are felt, <i>some</i> feelings are shared, a baking day is planned.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Truly never expected to ever have Feelings enter into any of my fanfic smut, and yet I probably shouldn't be surprised that Jack and Bitty pulled them out of me. I have no long-term plans for this, I'm genuinely just following the feelings where they lead me, and I do anticipate at least one more chapter after this, based on where this landed.</p><p>Also! I have in fact continued the smutty shenanigans for our in-canon SMH captains. They’ll be collected as separate works in this series rather than chapters of this first fic, since I’m going down this unexpected narrative path. The next entry, starring our favorite co-captains, is already posted 😈</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Gentle raps of his knuckles on the door frame committed him to this visit, despite the rising desire to flee. Bitty shifted his grip on the still-warm pie tin, absentmindedly sampled the scent of vanilla, the faint brightness of lemon. He stood at the threshold of Jack’s room, nervous energy attempting to animate his exhausted body into fidgets while he waited for a response and debated his choice to pay this visit in the first place. But Jack’s face, his voice, the way he had looked spent and unraveled after facing the coaches’ challenge…</p><p>Eric had managed to beat the team back to the Haus, throw the easy pie together, and pop it in the oven in time to retreat to the shower upstairs. It was quick work to sort out the erection that had plagued him following the strange events of that evening. Well, “strange” was putting it mildly, but Bitty didn’t consider himself a poet on the best of days and finding a thesaurus wasn’t on the top of his list of priorities at the moment. Top of the list was to try and check in on Jack without making things any weirder between them, though he was debating even now whether it was possible to avoid such an outcome. Wouldn’t it be best to simply leave the pie in front of the door and run back to his room and maybe avoid being around Jack for the foreseeable future, until he could successfully Eternal Sunshine the image of Jack, strapped to a chair, naked and desperate and wanton (or how Jack hadn’t succumbed to his orgasm until he saw Bitty jacking off)?</p><p>It was too much to process and change his mind in the short time it took for Jack’s voice to break through his racing thoughts.</p><p>“Yeah?”</p><p>God, he sounded wrecked.</p><p>Bitty cracked the door and popped his head in. “Just me. I thought, maybe, well I thought you could use some pie after…” Shit, he’d sworn he wasn’t going to mention the whole masturbated-by-our-coaches-in-front-of-the-whole-team thing. He swallowed. “Well, here’s a buttermilk pie.”</p><p>The room was dark, illuminated only by the desktop lamp which helpfully identified a clean surface on which Bitty could deposit the pie. He closed the door behind him and set the pie tin down, stacked the small paper plates and plastic spoons he’d brought along just beside it. </p><p>Gentle rustling sounds signaled Jack sitting up in his bed slowly as he said, “A whole pie, Bittle?” His raspy voice carried a soft chuckle. The poor dear was trying to act normal, and it twisted Bitty’s heart in a way he didn’t want to examine too closely.</p><p>“This is the least you’ve ever chattered, Bittle.” He sounded exhausted but still somehow managed an edge of chirp. A water bottle, a half-drunk cup of hot tea, both cluttered the nightstand beside Jack’s bed, evidence that Jack had been looked after. Probably Shitty, Ransom, and Holster, Bitty reflected. He felt a twinge of uncertainty at this, self-conscious that perhaps his attempts at comfort were just intrusive, unnecessary after the attentions of Jack’s closest friends. </p><p>Eric couldn’t know that Jack was currently feeling the sharp edge of an unfamiliar panic as he registered the difference in Bitty’s demeanor in that moment. He liked that Bittle chattered, he liked the steady patter of his presence and found some comfort in it, comfort that he realized with muted shock he really wanted right now. Historically, his post-loss process involved a retreat into solitude, tape, and brutal practices, and any attempts at reassurance or comfort from teammates landed sideways. The chair brought out deeper parts of himself, though. The part that needed to hear that he wasn’t a complete failure, the part that needed affection and attention and someone else to take care of him, the parts, in other words, that he had spent most of the past decade locking away as tightly as possible. And something about Bittle, something about his presence on the team and in Jack’s life made him need all of that from him, specifically. The absence of Bittle’s stream-of-consciousness gab left space for Jack’s mind to fill in the blanks with the conviction that it had happened, he couldn’t stand Jack’s presence after seeing what he’d seen, after he’d seen Jack be broken by the sight of him. </p><p>Bitty turned to face him with a soft smile, plate of pie in hand. “Oh, I can still chatter up a storm, trust.” He approached the bed, trying to ignore the part of himself that felt the need to be cautious. “You’re—I mean, we’re both pretty tired, so.”</p><p>Jack accepted the plate with a smile, small but genuine. “So, pie. Yeah.” He felt the aching, painful place inside of him bubbling up some impulsive apology, some plea for comfort. He wanted a hug, he wanted Bitty to run his slim fingers through his hair, he wanted to be held. Bitty’s presence was warm and gentle and kind and it would be such a relief to let someone truly know what he carried inside. He forestalled the impulse with a bite of pie.</p><p>Each was avoiding the other’s eyes and were only semi-aware that they both engaged in this dance. Bitty wanted almost nothing more in that moment than to flee, to go lock himself in his room again and emerge after enough time had passed that no one would recall the evening’s events. But he couldn’t stop thinking about the way Jack looked after it was all over, how he wilted and still blamed himself and even apologized for not lasting long enough when Bitty wasn’t sure he could’ve withstood that much focused and relentless attention for more than a few minutes at most. He wanted to touch Jack, hold him and whisper comfort into his ear.</p><p>“How is it?” he asked to fill the silence.</p><p>Jack chuckled. “Delicious, of course. I probably could eat the whole thing.” </p><p>“It’s all for you, anyway, so you better. I’ll take it very personally if you don’t. It’s actually one of Moomaw’s recipes, a family classic, really, but of course I had to play around with it myself though I’ll die before I ever tell her that, it’s just her recipes never really have enough acid in them to balance all the butter and sugar, which is truly Southern, of course, but—” He caught himself. Smiled, a bit bashfully.</p><p>Jack was chewing on a bite with a small smile on his lips, watching as Bitty’s chattering reliably made an appearance. His cheeks grew warm with a gentle blush as he said, “It helps, you know. When you talk like this.” </p><p>Bitty was betrayed by the instant drying up of all his chatter reserves. Obstructed by something like shyness, or perhaps by the very fact that Jack’s words evoked a strong need to do whatever he could to keep Jack feeling that way. He felt desperate enough in that moment to be bold.</p><p>“I don’t blame you, you know? I hope you can hear that.” He hadn’t thought through what he was going to say, but he could see the flash of hope followed by that shuttering of Jack’s eyes that he was starting to recognize. “I mean I know it’s hard, I know for you it’s hard to see that we care about you no matter what. That I care.” He could feel the moment closing in on him as he stated even this small sliver of the truth aloud.</p><p>Jack still rested against the wall, the plate of pie in his hand and a bite in his mouth, but he’d stopped chewing. His gaze rested on the plate. Inside he was a chaos of fear and hope and disbelief and need, begging for Bitty’s words to be true, a lifeline to which he might learn to cling. Ever so slowly he shifted his gaze back to where Bitty stood beside the bed. </p><p>“Even after today?” his voice was just above a whisper. </p><p>Bitty looked dumbstruck. “’Even after today?’ Mr. Zimmerman, I don’t even understand that question. Even after—listen here, I care about you. Because you’re my friend, not because of what you do for me or for the team or anything. That’s how this works, Jack.”</p><p>The moment threatened to become one for misty eyes and tissues, but the undercurrent of fear kept them from tipping too far into the softer feelings. Jack’s hands trembled a little and his head was swimming with thoughts and feelings that were nearly too much, but the thread that kept him tethered was Bitty’s presence beside him and the first glimmer of hope—not quite belief, not just yet—that maybe there was someone who could survive these intolerable pieces of himself.</p><p>The key to being a respected and still-liked chatterbox is to recognize the moments when it is and is not welcome, and Bitty was one of the most refined chatterboxes yet produced by the South. He held his tongue. Of course, he was going through his own journey, internally, reeling from the unexpected conviction behind his words, the spark of confidence that he could muscle through his confusing reactions to the events of the day (and his less than confusing reactions), the realization that Jack needed something that maybe he could give in part.</p><p>“I thought maybe you might not want to stick around after what you saw today,” Jack admitted. </p><p>Bitty blushed instantly. The urge to flee returned in a crashing wave, but he held his ground. “Oh! Well it was, uh, a lot to spring on us without warning, that’s for sure. But, you know, like I get it I guess?”</p><p>Jack flashed a wry grin. “First time I had to do it, I didn’t even question it. I was really in my head about the loss and blaming myself and it felt right, somehow.”</p><p>“You’re probably better at blaming yourself than I am at baking pies, I think,” Bitty said, lightly. He tentatively reached out and placed a comforting hand on Jack’s forearm.</p><p>Jack’s eyes flitted to the point of contact and then back to his plate of pie. He nodded silently.</p><p>Bitty’s heart broke, just a little. He’d seen this side of Jack before, but they never put words to it. “I saw how you looked after…after. I wish you didn’t feel that way.” He laughed at himself. “I know wishing ain’t gonna cut it, but I do anyway, I wish you didn’t feel that way. Or at least that you’d let someone add another voice to the mix. I’ve got a thing or two to say to your little inner critic, if you didn’t know.”</p><p>Setting the plate in his lap, Jack startled Bitty by laying his hand atop the one on his forearm and squeezing briefly. The feelings were too big and too complicated for his already taxed verbal skills to do anything with them. Exhaustion crested over him in a second, ineluctable wave. </p><p>Bitty saw, and understood. There remained so much to say, on both their ends, but not tonight. “You need to get yourself to sleep, Mr. Zimmermann. We’re all exhausted, and I think I’m gonna need your help with a baking project tomorrow if you can squeeze me onto your calendar.”</p><p>A surprised and grateful smile. “I’m gonna need my energy to survive your kitchen, eh?”</p><p>“You bet your insultingly large ass you will.” A perfectly normal thing to say in the Haus, as Jack’s ass was a staple of conversation, but both men were consumed instantly by blushes and Bitty finally gave into his urge to escape. “Well, goodnight, Jack!” He fled the room.</p><p>“Too soon, too soon to talk about his ass, you bitch,” Bitty groaned to himself back in his room. But the realization that he had successfully invited Jack to a baking day with him tomorrow crashed in on him in that moment as well, and he fell into bed with a smile.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Fun Author Fact: I grew up just about an hour outside Madison, GA, so it's been very exciting to get to add a Georgian's take on Bitty's dialect to the mix. </p><p>Story Note: I mean I clearly have to write about a baking day filled with feelings, don't I? I've given myself no choice. If this little Zimbits thread keeps spinning itself, I'll definitely end up getting back to the fun smutty stuff, but this time just them which will be new for me since my brand so far is "how many SMH can I squeeze into one sexual encounter?"</p><p>Disclaimer: The fact that I had two separate fics/chapters within a week is <i>absolutely</i> a fluke and I make no promises about frequency or consistency of posting, but I'm gonna try my darndest to keep it from spiraling too far.</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>*For any who might be curious, this whole scenario was in fact inspired by a porn video, naturally. <a href="https://%5Bwww.pornhub.com/view_video.php?viewkey=ph5a5c313936122%5D">Here it is</a>, for the curious. </p><p>*Is Holster and Ransom jacking each other off gonna become like an easter egg thing for me? This is twice in a row that they've just been in the background going at it, which isn't a lot, but like.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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